


The Brothers Grimm

by franzferdinand



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fairy Tales, Folklore, Gen, adapted from the brothers grimm, also this is technically an au, but still, caleb teaches zemnian folklore 101, every fandom needs a good ol campfire story fic, his friends are all concerned, how do I even tag this, it diverges after 93 but it's really only a little thing, jester will make sex jokes out of everything and you cannot stop her, no angst or fluff just stories, oops the second chapter has sad in it a little bit, right - Freeform, that's what i'll tell myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23748040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/franzferdinand/pseuds/franzferdinand
Summary: The Mighty Nein, around a campfire. What better way to pass the time by swapping stories, and who were better at stories than the Zemnians?Or: Caleb definitely has every story from the Fantasy Grimms' Fairy Tales memorized, and he is going to subject his friends to them. They get a little more insight on why he is the way that he is.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 155





	1. Der Gevatter Tod

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo! My first published Critical Role fic and it's something I wrote at midnight. That's very on-brand. 
> 
> I might write more of this, I might not. I like the idea, I just dunno what other fairy tales would be fun to subject the Nein to. Feel free to comment suggestions (though comments and kudos are always adored)!

"Aren’t you supposed to tell stories around a campfire?” 

Fjord raised an eyebrow, looking at Beau as she gave one last push on her bo staff, firmly planting it in the ground. She met his eyes as she sat down and leaned against it, still questioning. “That’s some camping shit, right?”

Caduceus shrugged, leaning forward to pour tea into seven little cups. “I wouldn’t know. Are you?” 

“Yeah,” Beau said, leaning on one knee. “It’s like a bonding exercise.” 

“Aren’t we bonded enough?” Nott tugged the corners of her cloak tighter around her, taking the teacup that Caduceus offered and pouring a healthy amount from her flask into it. She ignored the eyes of everyone else as she sipped it, staring instead into the fire, still burning brightly.

“I don’t know, I think a story would be fun!” Jester plopped down cross-legged between Beau and Caleb, brushing the last crumbs of dinner from her chest and looking around the circle. “I love stories, you know. When I was at the Chateau I heard this one story about a nobleman, a jar of honey, a billy goat--” 

“Jessie, I don’t think that’s exactly the type of story she meant,” Fjord broke in, voice a little strained. “Maybe you could, uh, tell that one later?” 

“We used to tell stories around the hearth,” Caleb said, his voice relatively quiet as he took his tea. “Lots of them. My family did not own very many books, but one of them was an old book of _Märchen_ , fairy tales. For children.” 

Beside him, Jester seemed to vibrate with excitement. She leaned forward, the firelight making her face glow. “Oh, please tell us a Zemnian fairy tale, Caleb! Please!” 

Caleb couldn’t help but smile and look down at his hands. “Oh, I don’t know. . .”

“It would be nice to hear a story from your home,” Caduceus said, his face inscrutable. “You can tell a lot about a place from its stories.”

Caleb seemed to think a moment, and summoned Frumpkin into his lap with a click of his fingers. He ran his hands through the cat’s fur for several moments, pondering, watching his friends settle into their places fireside. 

“Alright, then,” he said finally. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not very eloquent. I remember the story in, ah, Zemnian. But if you really want to hear it. . .” he looked around one more time, and was met with nods and encouraging smiles from his friends. “One of my favorites as a child was _Der Gevatter Tod_.” 

“Meaning. . .?” Beau asked, leaning forward. She, out of all of them, seemed the most curious about Zemnian as a language, and he wondered when she’d work up the courage to actually ask him to teach her. 

“Godfather Death.” 

Fjord whistled lowly. “This was a kid’s story, you said?” 

Caleb just nodded, thinking to himself. Thinking of how to begin. 

“A poor man lived in the woods in a small house, with his wife and their twelve children. The man worked day and night to feed them, and came home each night exhausted.”

“Not too exhausted, to have twelve kids,” Jester giggled, hushed only by a sharp elbow from Beau. 

“Shut up, man! I’m trying to hear the story!” 

“Sorry, sheesh. . .” 

“On the day his thirteenth child was born, a son, the man knew that he could not feed all of them. He left their house and made his way into the woods, intending to find a godfather for the boy.

On the path, there appeared to the man a figure, beautiful beyond measure. The figure stepped forward and extended their hand, and spoke with a voice like bells: 

‘I see what is within you, and I offer my help. I will be the child’s godfather, and he will find great joy.’ 

The man asked, ‘Who are you?’ and the figure replied that they were the Archeart, the god of fey and the magic that holds the world together. ‘

‘I will not have you as the child’s godfather,’ the man replied, ‘for you give to some and take away from others.’ 

The figure took this in stride, and faded back into the woods. The man walked for a while longer, and came upon another figure, dark and terrifying, a terrifying mix of woman and spider. 

‘Ah,’ she said, with a voice like razors. ‘I see your plight. Let me be the child’s godmother, and he will be very powerful in life.’

The man asked, ‘Who are you?’ and the creature replied that she was the Queen of Spiders, mistress of chaos and darkness. 

‘I will not have you,’ the man said, ‘for you are a deceiver of men, and you lead them astray.’” 

“This is a very interesting story, theologically,” Caduceus said, humming softly, but Caleb hardly seemed to notice. His eyes were thoughtful, far away, as though hearing another voice speak. He continued after only a brief pause, still stroking Frumpkin. 

“The man continued on and on through the dark woods, until his shoes split and his skin was chilled from the night air. Finally, just before the dawn broke, he came upon a third figure, covered in a black cloak. When he got closer, he saw that the man had a skeletal face, gnarled hands of bone, and when the man spoke, his voice was like fear itself. 

‘I have waited for you,’ he said, ‘take me as the child’s godfather. He who has me as a godfather cannot fail.’ 

The man asked, ‘Who are you?’ though he thought he already knew.

‘I am Death.’

And the man knew that he would have him as the boy’s godfather, for all men are equal in the eyes of Death, and all are taken from equally.

‘I will have you,’ he said. ‘The child will be named in two days. You should come.’

And Death said that he would, and when the day came, Death appeared just as he promised to.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask what happened next,” Fjord said quietly. He glanced down, noting his rapidly cooling tea. They all seemed enthralled, their little bedtime routines paused, their cups abandoned. Caleb, again, seemed not to notice.

“When the boy finally came of age, Death appeared again on his withered legs, and asked the boy to follow him into the woods. He led the boy to a grove where a magical herb grew, and told him that he would make him into a famous physician, able to cure any of the world’s ills. 

‘This is my gift to you as godfather,’ Death said. ‘Whenever you are called to the bedside of a sick person, I will appear to you again. If you see me at their head, then they are not yet destined to die, and you may give them some of this herb, and they will be saved. If you see me at their feet, then they are already within my grasp, and you must do nothing, and say that there is nothing any physician could do.’

‘I will do as you say,’ the boy replied, already enthralled at the idea of such fame and fortune. 

‘Beware,’ Death said, ‘of using this herb against my will. Only terrible things happen to those who oppose Death itself.’”

“Always a fuckin’ condition,” Beau muttered, her eyes trained on Caleb. “Never simple.”

“Before long, the man was the most famous physician in the land. He obeyed Death’s rule, and left those with Death at their feet, and saved those with Death at their head. He needed only look at a person to tell if they were beyond help, and people spoke often of his talents, and came from far and wide to make use of them, and paid him handsomely. Soon he was a very wealthy man.

Eventually it happened that the King himself became ill, and of course, the physician was sent for, to tell if the King would recover or if he was destined to die. 

When the physician came to the King’s chambers, he was horrified to find that Death crouched at the man’s feet, and no medicine nor magic in the world could help him.

‘If only I could deceive Death just once,’ the physician thought, his mind racing. ‘If I were to heal the King, I would become even more prosperous than I am now. Death will be angry, of course, but he took me as his godson. He will forgive me, just this once. I will risk it.” 

And so he took the sick man and laid him the other way round, so that Death now sat over his head, and fed him some of the herb, and he quickly became healthy again. 

Soon enough, Death came to the physician. ‘You have betrayed me,’ he thundered, fire blazing in his empty eyes. ‘I will forgive you, just this once, for you are my godson. Do not do it again, or I will not be so merciful. Remember that no man is more powerful than Death.’

And for a while, the physician obeyed, and his business was good. 

It came to pass, however, that the King’s daughter became sick, and the physician was again called to her bedside. The Princess was the King’s only child, and he had cried and cried at her sickness, and promised wealth and her hand in marriage to the man who could make her well again. 

When he came to the sick Princess, he was so distracted by her great beauty and the idea of marrying her that he hardly took note of Death at her feet. 

Ignoring the sight of Death’s wrath, threatening him with his withered fist raised, the physician rushed forward and took the girl in his arms, laying her head where her feet had been so he could give her the herb. Instantly, life rushed back to her, her skin warming where it had been pale, her lovely blue eyes opening to look upon her salvation. 

Before she could open her mouth in thanks, Death strode forward and took the physician’s arm in one ice-cold hand, and led him away to a place dark and cold. The physician could do nothing but follow.

‘You have betrayed me for the last time, godson,’ Death growled as the physician looked around him. He saw thousands and thousands of burning candles, some larger than others, all flickering with a nonexistent breeze. Whenever some would go out, others would be relit in their place, so all the little flames seemed to have a dance and current of their own, ever-changing. 

‘See,’ Death said, ‘the life-lights of mankind. Those tall ones belong to children, the medium ones to adults, those low ones to the old, though some children can have short candles indeed.’

‘Will you show me mine?’ the physician asked, thinking that his candle should still be fairly large. 

Death looked at him for a long moment before pointing to a little stump of a candle with a flame threatening to go out. ‘There.’

The physician was horrified, and fell to his knees before Death. 

‘Oh, godfather, please light another one for me!’ he cried, clasping his hands. ‘Do it for your godson, so I might live a long life, and marry the Princess, and become King!’

‘I cannot,’ said Death. ‘One candle must go out before another one is lit.’

‘Then set the old one onto a new one, so that one will go on burning after the old one is finished!’

And Death, after another long moment, seemed to obey, and took up a large candle in his hand. He held the flames together, but purposefully let the physician’s candle slip from his hands and onto the floor, where it sputtered and died. The physician fell to the ground, and then he too was in the hands of Death.” 

The tale finished, Caleb sat back, that same pondering expression on his face. It seemed to take a moment for his friends to realize that he was finished, their eyes like dinner plates. 

“. . . Zemnian folktales are _fucked up_ ,” Beau said finally, her voice hoarse. “Gods, man, they told you that story as a kid??” 

Caleb looked up, smiling softly. “ _Ja_ , they did. I liked it very much. I used to beg my _Vati_ to tell it differently, but he never did. I thought the boy was very stupid for disobeying his godfather.” 

“That’s a really scary story, Caleb,” Jester said, tugging nervously at her skirts. “Are they all like that?”

“Most of them, _ja_. Lots of Zemnian folktales are about foolish people in bad circumstances. They teach better lessons that way.”

“What in all the hells is the lesson you’re supposed to learn from that?” Fjord blanched, his head whipping up from where he was undoing his bootlaces. “That you should be careful who you give magic plants to?”

Caleb just smiled again. “Depends on who you ask. My father used to tell me it meant that I should spend my days carefully and live with honor, because Death takes everyone without warning. My mother used to tell me it meant I should obey my elders.”

“Not a bad moral,” Nott muttered, her nose in her teacup, where it had been for the past several minutes. 

“You know,” Beau said, “sometimes the things you tell us about the Zemni Fields make you make a lot more sense.”

“I cannot tell if that is an insult or not, Beauregard.” 

“Neither. But if Zemnians all tell their kids stories about boys who got fucked over by death itself, I think I should be a little less surprised at your gallows humor.” 

Caduceus, who had been quiet thus far, gently took Caleb’s now-cold teacup from where it rested by his knee. “I thought it was a very nice story, Caleb. It reminded me of home. You’ll have to tell us another one tomorrow.”


	2. Frau Trude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story wasn't suggested, I just had some thoughts about the witch as I'm catching up on campaign two. This is completely ridiculous and very self-indulgent. It is 1:58 am at time of writing. 
> 
> Indulge me. Forgive me. Join me.

The trek back from the witch’s hut was long and dark and wet. None of them wanted to speak, and the silence hung heavy like the shadows around them. Even Jester, who was usually an ever-flowing font of opinions on every bush, dragonfly, and patch of dirt they passed was quiet, staring alternately at the path and down at her hands. She rubbed them together occasionally, as though there was something on them she wished to get off. She had been quiet ever since they had left the witch’s hut, had left off her demands that they hurry up, really, please, and they had all got sick of asking why.

They made camp on the driest patch of land they could find in the dwindling light of day, already dim through the thick canopy of leaves overhead, and Caleb cast Leomund’s Tiny Hut without being asked. It was a familiar rhythm, for Caleb to cast the hut, and light a small cookfire, to watch Caduceus settle down and begin to cook them a meal. This meal generally had a peculiar restorative quality, and drew them from their relative reveries to at least eat together, if not lighten their sadness completely. This night seemed to be heavier, somehow. The smells of Caduceus’ cooking filled the little hut, mottled green like the dirty wet trees around them, but still the Mighty Nein stayed wrapped up in themselves, cleaning weapons, sorting packs, drinking with various degrees of slyness.

Eventually, it was Caduceus’ voice that broke their uneasy silence.

“Come on, now,” he said, his voice soft as moss but firm like the stone it grew on. “Come here and eat. We’re doing nobody any good moping, huh?” 

He looked around as his teammates stirred, as though they had forgotten he was there. They approached in fits and starts, their coats and overclothes discarded in the warmth of the hut, compounded by the heat from his cookfire. 

“Thanks, Deuces,” Nott mumbled as she accepted a bowl from him. She sat cross-legged, cradling the bowl in her lap alongside her flask. The others followed suit, and Caduceus slowly looked around the circle, at this ragged group, still afraid of each other, even after so long.

“You know,” he began, “I don’t know that I understand why you’re all so unhappy. We got what we wanted, didn’t we? That woman agreed to lift Nott’s curse, and we didn’t have to pay her price.”

There was silence for several moments as six pairs of eyes stared deep into the fire.  
“Nott, are you happy with the way things turned out?” Caduceus asked, turning his attention to her once more. 

Nott seemed to consider the question for a long time, and the firelight flickered on her earrings and large, dark eyes. “I think I am.” 

“I’d hope you were,” Jester mumbled, from where she was sitting picking grass from the patch in front of her. She was still uncharacteristically quiet, still rubbing at her hands. “I gave up half a cupcake for that.” 

Beau perked up, her eyes finding Jester as she unwrapped her hands from their bindings. “Yeah, hey, can we talk about that? What did you actually _do_ to her?” 

Jester pulled another piece of grass from the ground and sighed. Her eyes stayed on her hands as she shredded it with careful movements. “Like I said. I gave her a cupcake.”

“Yeah, right,” Beau snorted. “That evil witch who lives in the woods and who cursed my dad because she eats _fucking misery_ broke the curse on Nott because of a _cupcake_. You could at least give us the courtesy of saying what you _did_.” 

Jester’s eyes didn’t move from her hands. She plucked another piece of grass. “I cast _Modify Memory_ on her.” 

“I’m sorry, you did _what_?” Fjord’s voice came like breaking ice, a little raw from disuse and from disbelief. “That worked?”

“The cupcake had some of that spice we got in Zadash on it. It makes people. . . more agreeable. So I fed her the cupcake. And I cast _Modify Memory_ on her to make her think that I was so cool and friendly and she liked me so much that she agreed to break Nott’s curse on her own.” She looked up, and in the firelight it was clear that her eyes were wet with tears. “Oh, Caleb, I’m so sorry, I know I said I wouldn’t ever change somebody’s memory with magic, but you all looked so _sad_ and I didn’t know what to _do_ and now you’re all going to be mad at me--” 

“Jester,” Caleb said, though he wasn’t looking at her. He kept looking at the fire, hands buried deep in Frumpkin’s fur. It was enough to stop her tirade, shaky as it was. When he finally looked at her, there was no anger in his face. “It’s alright. Really.”  
Jester swallowed thickly. “It’s not, though, I broke my promise and I did that terrible thing that happened to you, and I feel really awful about it.”

“I can’t speak for Caleb,” Fjord said, “but I can speak for myself, and I don’t think I could ever hold that against you, Jester. You did a great thing in there, something I don’t think any of us could have done.”

“Yeah, man, Caleb better not be mad at you! You saved all of us!” Beau seemed not to notice the glare that Fjord shot her, leaning forward. “You’re not like those Assembly fucks, all right? You’re Jester Lavorre, and you made friends with a witch by giving her a cupcake. That’s incredible, it’s--” She stopped as Yasha put one heavy hand on her shoulder, pulling her back just a bit. Yasha nodded slowly at Jester, and it seemed that she didn’t have to say anything else.

Jester sniffed, and left the bits of grass to instead pull her legs to her chest. “Thanks, Beau. Thanks, Yasha.” 

“What they said is true,” Caleb said after a beat. “You did a very brave thing.” 

Jester looked up at him and propped her chin on her knees. Though the hut was small enough that it was always close quarters, in that moment she seemed very small and very distant. “I’m still mad, though. Everybody was so willing to give up everything for you, Nott, and even though we didn’t have to really give her anything, it still feels like we lost. I don’t like thinking about the war getting even worse, or Beau leaving us forever, or having my hands cut off. I’m mad that we even had to think about it.” 

“Oh, it could be worse.” Caleb sat up a little straighter, and after a beat Frumpkin jumped out of his lap and padded over to Jester. She reached for the cat without a second thought, leaning back enough to cradle him to her chest, where he purred loudly enough to rumble deep in her chest. 

“I guess, but still. . .” 

“It still feels like she’s got a hand on us.” Yasha’s voice came as somewhat of a surprise, and the group’s eyes turned to her. “That’s a terrible feeling.”

“It is,” Caduceus agreed, and his eyes were distant. “I think a lot of us are used to that feeling, and it doesn’t feel good to come upon it again.” 

For a while, there was nothing anybody could say to that. The fire burned on, casting uncertain shadows on the arcane walls, and their dinners cooled uneaten. 

Eventually, it was Caleb who looked up, new determination in his eyes. “You know what?” he said, a little louder than before. “We did not lose to that witch. There were a million ways to lose to that witch, and we found one simple way to win.” He looked around the circle, at the pairs of eyes trained alternately on him or on the ground, disbelieving. “Would you all like to hear another story? It is a short one, but I think you will appreciate it.” 

“I. . . sure, what the hell,” Beau muttered, rubbing one eye. “I don’t have any objections.” 

“Alright, me neither,” Fjord said, and eventually all of them assented, with no small degree of reluctance. 

“This is called _Frau Trude_. Lady Trudy.” Caleb’s voice took on a different tone when he was telling stories, something deeper and more careful, his accent perhaps that bit more pronounced. Though she would never admit it, Jester felt like she could hear just a hint of the person he used to be in it, the person who might have grown up to be just like his father. 

“Once upon the time, there was a girl who was very strong-willed and bold. Everything her parents told her to do, no matter what it was, she disobeyed, or ignored altogether. They could do nothing to control her.” 

Beau snorted, rubbing her knuckles. “Jeez, Caleb, you didn’t have to make up a story for me. I know what I’m like.” Caleb did not reply. 

“One day, she said to her parents, ‘I have heard so much about Frau Trude. One day, I would like to go to her place, and meet her, and see where she lives. People say that all sorts of amazing things happen there, and that you can see wonders there that you can’t see anywhere else. I’ve become very curious.’ 

But her parents strictly forbade her, and told her that Frau Trude was a godsless woman who committed horrible acts. They told her that if she ever went to see Frau Trude, she would be a daughter of theirs no longer. 

Of course, the girl ignored her parents, and went to Frau Trude’s house anyway. 

When she finally arrived, she was let in by Frau Trude, who looked her over and saw that she was pale and trembling. 

‘What’s wrong, girl?’ she asked. “What’s made you so pale?’

‘On the way here, I saw something that frightened me a great deal,’ the girl replied, still shaking from head to toe. 

‘Oh?’ Frau Trude asked, stepping close to the girl, reaching out one gnarled hand as if to offer comfort. 

‘On your steps, I saw a man, black all over.’

‘That was merely a collier, girl, carrying coals and covered in coal-dust.’ 

‘I saw a green man, too.’ 

‘That was just a huntsman, dressed in the colors of the forest.’ 

‘I saw another man, red as blood.’ the girl wrapped her arms around herself, her voice small and terrified.

‘Oh, girl,’ Frau Trude said gently, placing that withered hand on the girl’s shoulder, ‘that was a butcher, and butchers cannot help but be covered in blood. You musn’t blame them for that.’ 

‘There was another thing,’ the girl said, looking up at Frau Trude with large eyes, blue as glass. ‘When I looked in your window, I was scared, because I didn’t see you. I saw a devil with a head on fire, burning.’

Frau Trude smiled. 

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Clever girl. You have seen the witch in her true form. I have been waiting for you, you know, waiting for you to light me and keep me warm. Time for you to serve your purpose!’

And her grip on the girl’s shoulder became like iron, and she spoke terrible arcane words, and turned the girl into a piece of wood. This piece of wood she threw onto the fire, where it burned quickly. Once it was thoroughly alight, the witch sat down in her chair by the fire, and revelled at how bright a light the girl now shed.” 

“You know,” Beau muttered, “I think you’ve got a super weird idea of what’s comforting.” 

“I know it is not a happy story,” Caleb shot back. “That is the point. There are so many stories of witches, of children caught off their guard, of adults being taken in by horrid deals, and we have escaped every single one. Who among us has not had some argument or another with power? With our parents, even? We went to the witch in the woods and came back with exactly what we wanted, no strings attached.”

He looked at Nott, and reached over to place a hand on her arm. “You have gotten what you want, my friend, and as soon as I am able and you are willing, I will return your form to you.” She looked first at his hand, and when she looked up at his face, there was a little smile on her face. “Thanks, Cay.” 

“I guess you do have a point,” Fjord mused, scratching at his jaw. “I’m still not sure I understand the ending, though.”

“I think the ending was made up by parents who were sick of their kids wandering off and getting into trouble.” 

Caleb’s head whipped around at the sound of Jester’s voice, and felt his heart lift at the sight of a smile on her face.

“Did your parents tell you that one a lot, Cay-leb? I bet you got into all sorts of trouble, huh?” She giggled despite herself, burying her nose in Frumpkin’s soft fur. 

“Oh, yes,” Caleb said drily, sitting up. “I made deals with witches all the time. I couldn’t be helped.” 

“That checks out,” Beau said, a smile of her own finally on her face. “If you told me after that first story that you’d actually manage to make me feel better by telling me about some little Zemnian kid that got killed, I’d tell you to try and sell your bullshit to a farmer.”

“I liked that one a lot, too,” Caduceus said, leaning back against the curved wall of the dome. “Now, I don’t advocate anybody getting turned into wood and tossed onto a fire, but I think bad things tend to happen to children who don’t listen to their parents.” 

“Hey!” 

“Unless their parents don’t deserve to be listened to in the first place.”

“That’s what I thought.” 

And Caleb just smiled softly to himself, watching his friends fall into squabbling over stories and witches and the future, and wished not for the first time that his parents could be here, and hear their stories meet new ears and new hearts. He thought, maybe, they would like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, apropos of nothing, I've got a sadboi Caleb playlist on spotify if anyone feels like giving it a listen or suggesting any songs. 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3X4W2hkfakLpxb2LfHze6o?si=aUu466SbScOuuwPiUbosow


	3. Der Gescheite Hans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 2:10 am. Somebody please help me write at times when the sun is shining. Please. 
> 
> Anyway, I love Luc. This is vaguely post-Travelercon, since Veth's herself again.

It probably should have been less of a surprise that Luc was an absolute terror.

They knew his mother, after all. While many a wondrous thing could be said in Veth Brenatto, and every word be meant, she was not always the easiest to get along with, and rarely inclined to listen quietly to any instructions given to her. Luc, who had his father’s eyes and his mother’s spirit, was fun in small doses, but the Mighty Nein had been at the Lavish Chateau for three nights now, and the act was getting rather old. 

“No, Luc, get down from there, please--” Beau dashed forward, grabbing the child around the waist and pulling him off a decorative wall sconce that contained an ever-burning lamp. No matter whether he had wanted to grab the lamp, or merely use the sconce as a jumping-off point, she didn’t know, and frankly, didn’t care. She pulled the wriggling child back from the wall, back towards the various plush couches the rest of the Nein were lounging on, either chatting quietly among themselves or occupied at their own small tasks. 

“Here,” Beau said, too brightly, “play with your dad.” She gave a little apologetic smile at Yeza as she put Luc down, and went over to flop down next to Nott, sighing. 

“I don’t mean to be an asshole,” she said, quiet enough that Veth knew she was trying to be considerate, “but I can’t help but wonder if I was that annoying as a kid.”

“Probably,” Fjord said, not looking up from where he was picking at some dried blood that had crusted on one of his bracers. Beau shot him a rude look, but did nothing but settle back into the seat she’d perched on, trying to relax. 

The relaxation didn’t last long. 

She heard Caleb’s voice first, a little strained. “No, no, let’s-- let’s not do that, ja?” and cracked one eye open to see Luc’s little hands picking at the top flap of Caleb’s component pouch. 

“Come on, Mister Caleb, pleeease?” Luc wheedled, flopping back on his knees, Caleb’s pouch now carefully stowed out of Luc’s reach. “I want to learn how to use magic!” 

It seemed that since they’d last seen him, Luc had gotten quite sick of crossbows. 

Caleb looked briefly at Yeza, who seemed thoroughly distracted by some sheet in front of him that was covered in chemical symbols and equations. Leave it to an academic, he thought. That sort of thing was just as likely to happen to him; he couldn’t really blame Yeza.

“Maybe later, clever Hans, yeah?” He said, looking back at Luc. “Now isn’t so good a time for me. I’m very tired.”

Luc frowned, his dark little caterpillar brows furrowing. Now that they all had a chance to see Veth as she really was, they could see how much of her was in Luc.

“My name’s Luc, Mister Caleb,” he said, in that slow tone that children reserve for adults who are being particularly stupid.

Caleb just smiled, leaning forward a little. “I know, I know. Hans was a character from a story that my parents told me when I was a child.”

“More stories?” Caduceus asked, a smile in his eyes as he looked at Caleb and Luc. 

“It seems like it,” Caleb said. He placed his component pouch behind him on the couch and slid so he was sitting in front of Luc, hands on his knees. “Would you like to hear the story of _Der gescheite Hans_ , the clever Hans? I think you would find it very interesting.” 

Luc cocked his head. “Is it a good story?” 

“It’s a very good story. I liked it very much when I was your age.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Caleb watched his friends perk up one by one at the talk of stories, little nudges passing between them. It lit something warm and comforting within him, to know that they found some comfort in these ghosts of his childhood, some of the few things that did not taste like ash in his mouth. 

Luc nodded slowly, and moved to mirror Caleb’s cross-legged position. “Alright. How’s the story go?”

“Once upon a time, there was a boy named Hans who was engaged to be married to a girl named Gretel.”

“Ooh, ooh, was she a pretty girl?” Jester interrupted, leaning forward. 

“I was gonna ask that!” Luc giggled, looking back and forth between them. 

“A very pretty girl,” Caleb agreed, voice dry. 

“Luc, let him finish,” Veth said, her eyes on her lap, where she was stringing several buttons together to make a necklace to add to the collection already around her neck. Luc nodded again, making a motion of locking his lips obediently. 

“One day, Hans gathered his coat and his scarf, and his mother asked him where he was going.

‘To see Gretel, mother.’

‘Alright. Behave yourself.’

‘Behave myself. Yes, mother. Good-bye.’

And Hans came to Gretel’s house, and she met him at the door. 

‘Have you brought me anything?’ she asked.

‘I’ve brought nothing,’ Hans told her. ‘I’m looking for something.’

So Gretel gave him a needle, and he told her good-bye and brought it home, and stuck it in the hay wagon.”

Luc’s laughing had been steadily growing, and Caleb paused in the telling. 

“This is a really silly story,” he said, trying fruitlessly to cover his wide child’s grin behind his hands. 

“Just wait, ja? It will get even sillier. But you’ve got to be quiet so I can tell it.” 

“Alright, I will. Promise.”

“Good. So. Hans brought the needle home and stuck it in the hay wagon, and went inside to his mother. 

‘How was Gretel’s?’ she asked. ‘Did you take her anything?’

‘It was good, mother. I didn’t take her anything. She gave me a needle.’

‘Where is the needle?’

‘Stuck in the hay wagon.’ 

Hans’ mother frowned. ‘That was stupid, Hans,’ she said. ‘You should have stuck it in your sleeve. Don’t do that again.’

The next day, Hans once again gathered his coat and scarf.

‘Where are you going, Hans?’

‘To Gretel’s, mother.’

‘Alright. Behave yourself.’

‘Behave myself. Yes, mother. Good-bye.’

Again Hans went to Gretel’s, and again she asked if he had anything for her. 

‘I haven’t got anything. I’m looking for something.’

And Gretel gave him a fine knife, and he bid her good-bye. This time, Hans stuck the knife in his sleeve, cutting a hole in it, and took it home.

‘Evening, mother.’

‘Evening, Hans. What did you do at Gretel’s?’

‘She gave me a knife.’

‘Where is the knife?’

‘Stuck through my sleeve.’

Hans’ mother frowned. ‘That was stupid. You should have put it in your pocket. Do better next time.’”

“Is the whole story like this?” 

Caleb raised his eyebrow at the interruption, which had not come from Luc. Instead, it came from Beauregard, laid at entirely wrong angles across her armchair. “‘Cause I’m just saying, that’s kind of boring. Is this why you describe everything in such excruciating detail?”

“You know, I’m kind of with Beau. Are there many more gifts?” Fjord looked hopeful, and Caleb rolled his eyes without shame.

“I can tell you the rest a bit quicker, but I will not rush the end. Be patient. You are all worse than children. At least Luc is listening to me.”

Luc was picking his nose.

Caleb sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mostly. Just listen, okay?” 

He was met with a chorus of agreement. 

“Okay. The next day, when Hans came to Gretel’s she gave him a little billy goat, white with gray patches. This time, he put it into his pocket, and on the walk home it suffocated in there, and his mother scolded him. That is not what you should have done, she said. You should have tied a rope around its neck and led it home.

The next day, Hans came to Gretel’s and she gave him a piece of ham. He tied a rope around the piece of ham, and dragged it all the way along the dirt path home. When he got to his little cottage, the dogs came forward and ate the ham off the rope, and so by the time he got inside, all he had in his hands was the rope with nothing on it. His mother scolded him again, telling him he should have carried the bacon on his head, or under his arm.

Hans came again to Gretel’s and she gave him a calf. He put the calf under his arm to carry it home, but it kicked and kicked, and eventually it got out of his grasp and ran far away, so fast that Hans could never hope to catch it. His mother scolded and scolded him, and beat him with her rolling pin, and told him that he should have tied it in the barn and fed it hay.

The very last day, Hans came and knocked on Gretel’s door.

‘What is it now?’ she asked, probably very tired.

‘What have you got for me?’ Hans asked.

‘Today,’ Gretel said, ‘I give you myself. Take me home and show me to your mother.’

So Hans took Gretel home, and just as his mother said, he tied her up in the barn and gave her plenty of hay to eat and good water to drink. He went inside, and greeted his mother.

‘Evening, Hans. What did Gretel give you?’

‘She didn’t give me anything. She came home with me.’

‘Oh?’ Hans’ mother asked, excited. ‘Where is she?’

‘I did as you said. I took her to the barn and tied her up.’

‘You stupid, stupid boy! You tied her up when you should have been casting your loving eyes at her! Gods, you have got to do better!’

Hans listened. He went out to the barn, and carved the eyes from all the calves and lambs he had helped birthe and who loved him a great deal, and threw them at Gretel where she was tied up. And that’s how Hans ended his engagement, and lost his bride forever. The end.” 

Luc was not the only person in the room who looked like he was about to be sick. Veth, beside Caleb on the couch, was smiling a wicked little smile that was doubtless hers no matter what face she wore.

“You know, Caleb, I think that was a really great story,” she said as she leaned forward. 

“I’m glad you think so,” Caleb replied airily. “My parents loved to tell me that one. Used to call me ‘clever Hans’ when I got into trouble because I wasn’t using my head.”

“What do you think, Luc?”

And the rest of the night, Luc did every single thing that his mother told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to BritBrodcast for suggesting Clever Hans! There's so many great Grimm's fairy tales, I love getting suggestions for ones that work for the empire and for the Nein. This whole thing honestly gives me such joy.


	4. Die sechs Schwäne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So how 'bout that Narrative Telephone, eh? 
> 
> Thanks to Liam for validating this concept and pointing out how well this sort of story works in the Empire's culture. 
> 
> (So when do I get my royalties?)
> 
> This is pretty directly after the Nein meets Certified Bastard, Thoreau Lionett. Hate that dude. Enjoy.

The lights were low at the Gemmed Hearth Inn. Jester got the impression that the lights were always low there, a halfhearted way to hide the grime and the dust and the general disrepair of the place. All the love in the world couldn’t save a place from time, and the Gemmed Hearth had doubtless seen plenty of it. It was worlds away from the taverns she had been trained to expect in Nicodranas, well-lit and elegant, showing off the money evident in every corner. This had become what she knew, now, with the rest of the Nein. A place that seemed to wish that you were somewhere else even as it endeavored to clean out your pockets for whatever rot-gut it could sell you. 

The Nein spent little time in the common room. Beau seemed determined to plow forward through the fast-encroaching light and the dim atmosphere of the inn, as though moving quickly enough could shake the last of the encounter with Thoreau off her. All of them had been shaken by Beau’s father. The apparent love the Lionetts felt for their children was at war with Beau’s tales of neglect and anger. The only thing that eased their confusion was the thought of what Beau must feel, and the desire to care for her. To be friends, loyal and true. 

Nott and Beau paused just long enough at the bar to buy a few bottles of something dark and something clear that made the barkeep snicker when they asked for it. Neither noticed, and neither cared. If they wanted to get drunk, they would drink, the opinions of some Kamordan lowlife be damned. 

Though the inn had three sleeping rooms, the Mighty Nein were nothing if not creatures of habit, and they all gathered in one of them to pass around the bottles and make stilted, uncertain conversation. They spoke around the issue, about distant issues and absent friends. Anything but the manor they had just left. 

Finally, perhaps unsurprisingly, it was Beau who broke the silence.

“Okay, alright, listen, you guys don’t have to fuckin’ _do this_.” 

The silence she’d broken came back with a vengeance. 

“Do. . . what?” Fjord asked carefully, looking up from where he was running a cloth along the Star Razor. The magic sword never seemed to dull like the Sword of Fathoms had, never grew his falchion’s rust, but cleaning weapons was a ritual hard to lose. 

“Pretend that everything’s alright. That you don’t hate me.”

“Why in the world would we hate you?” Jester asked, bouncing up onto her knees. “Beau, we just met your asshole dad and your jerk mom and saw how they treated you! I don’t get why we’d hate you. I love you even more?” 

Beau’s jaw clenched in the lantern light. Beneath the flickering glow, she was all hard lines and angles, corded muscle tense and doing precious little to hide it. “But. . . you heard them. They love me. I’ve just been telling you that my dad hates me and my mom doesn’t care and now. . . now you know that it isn’t true. That they really do love me.” 

In a room like this, in a horrifying silence that no one wanted to fill, Caleb’s eyes found the nearest flame. His eyes were locked onto the lantern in his eyeline, his hands buried deep in Frumpkin’s fur. 

“Beau, it’s. . .” Fjord sighed. “It’s not that simple. Maybe they say they love you, but intentions don’t amount for much if they’ve hurt you.” 

“Yeah,” Nott grumbled, taking a deep drink. “Parents. . . parents aren’t supposed to hurt their children. ‘S not enough just to not hurt them, or think you’re not hurting them, you’ve got to. . . help. To build them up. Your parents didn’t do that.” 

Beau didn’t say anything for several long moments. She seemed to be lost within herself, her eyes seeing things that were not in front of her. 

“We’re always going to support you, Ms. Beau,” Caduceus said gently. “You’re our friend. You’ll always be our friend, and we’ll be there to see you grow. Help you reach out to the sun.” 

Beau’s eyes closed, and she pressed her head against the wall. She let out a long, hard breath. 

“I guess it’s just. . . it feels like all this shit has been for nothing. After they sent me away, I wanted to do well just to spite them. I found out about TJ, and I was angry, but I think a part of me wanted to do well for him, too. But it doesn’t matter. None of it fucking mattered, because all my reasons for hating him aren’t real. It’s just. . . some bullshit story I told myself.” 

Yasha reached out and placed one hand, large but gentle, on Beau’s shoulder. It fit snugly, the calluses on Yasha’s fingers grounding and warm. 

“Beau,” she said softly, “the things they say might be true for them, but that doesn’t mean they’re true for you. You did so well, and you’ve accomplished so much, and maybe it doesn’t matter who it was for originally. You’ve gotten stronger in so many ways. Like maybe it was always for you.” 

Beau lifted her head from the wall, her eyes going just a hair wide as she looked at Yasha. She was a woman of few words; when she spoke, you listened.

“I. . .” but she trailed off, her throat working. Like she wanted to disagree, but couldn’t find the words.

“I don’t mean to make it about me, but maybe there’s something I could say that could help.” 

Everyone’s heads shot up at the sudden sound of Caleb’s gentle voice, cutting through the tension. 

“What is it?” Beau asked, sniffing a little. “Another story?” 

“Yes, actually,” Caleb said. “About the things we do for those we love, and for ourselves. The people it makes us.”

“Alright.” Beau rested her chin on her knees, eyes on Caleb. “I guess. . . I guess we could hear it. I’m always down for a creepy-ass Zemnian folktale.” 

Caleb smiled softly and cradled Frumpkin a little closer to his chest. He was in a state of undress rarely seen, in his shirtsleeves with his book holsters on the ground beside him, wrapped in his coat. It was probably just an effect of the muggy air of the room, but it felt personal. Like he had taken off a suit of armor instead of a ratty coat. 

“The story is called _Die sechs Schwäne_ , or The Six Swans.” Caleb looked around the circle, as though confirming that everybody was watching, or at least listening. This was a story he wanted heard. 

“One day, there was a king who was hunting in his great forest. He chased his prey so eagerly that none of his men could keep up with him, and he was often alone, just himself and the woods. When the evening approached, the king looked around and realized that he was completely lost, and none of his men were around him. He looked and looked for a way out of the woods, but could not find one. Eventually, he saw an old woman with a crooked spine and a bobbing head, whose eyes seemed to glow as she watched him. He knew at once that she was a witch. 

‘My dear _Großmutter_ ,” he said, ‘can you show me a way out of the woods?’

‘Of course I can, Your Majesty,’ she replied, a smile on her thin face, ‘I can, but there is one condition. If you do not follow it, you will never leave these woods, and you will waste away here until the hunger and the thirst finally take you.’

‘What sort of condition is it?’ the king asked.

‘I have a daughter,’ the witch said, ‘and she is the most beautiful girl in the world. She deserves to become your wife. If you will make her your queen, I will show you the way out of the woods.’

The king was so frightened that he could do nothing but agree, and the witch took him to her cottage, where her daughter sat sewing at the fire. She met the king as though she had been expecting him for days. The king saw that she was very beautiful, but he did not like her. Her eyes were hollow and black, and her voice was thin, like the wind through reeds. He kept his promise, however, and helped the woman onto his horse.

After the king lifted her daughter onto his horse, the witch showed him the way out of the woods, and he arrived again at the royal palace, where he and the girl were married.

The king had been married before, and by his first wife he had beget seven children: six sons, and one daughter. These he loved more than anything in the entire world. 

Fearing that their stepmother would not treat them well, that she would be cruel to them or even harm them, the king took them to a secluded castle in the middle of the woods. The castle was so well-hidden, the way so secluded and confusing, that he was certain no one could find them there. Even he would not have been able to find it, had he not received a ball of magical yarn from a wise mage. Whenever he threw it on the ground in front of him, the yarn would unravel and show him the way.

Because he loved his children so, the king visited them often. So often, in fact, that the queen took notice of his absence. She wanted to know what he was doing all alone in the deep, dark woods. After paying an exorbitant sum of money to some of her husband’s servants, she discovered the truth. The servants also told her about the ball of magic yarn, and how it could point out the way all by itself. 

The queen did not rest until she discovered where the king hid the ball of yarn. She then made little shirts of white silk. With the magic she had learned from her witchmother, she sewed an incantation into each of the shirts. One fateful day, when the king was again out hunting, she took the shirts and the ball of yarn into the woods and followed the yarn all the way to the hidden castle. 

The children saw the dust and heard the footsteps of someone approaching and were elated, as they believed it to be their dear father coming again to visit. They ran to meet him, but were instead met with their stepmother. She threw one of the shirts over each of them, and one by one as the shirts touched their skin they were transformed into brilliant white swans, and all flew away. 

The queen returned home quite pleased indeed, because she thought she had finally gotten rid of her stepchildren. The girl, however, had not run out with her brothers, and the queen had no idea that she existed.

The next day the king went to visit his children, but he found the cabin empty except for the girl, curled up and shaking.

‘Darling, where are your brothers?’ asked the king.

‘Oh, my dear father,’ she answered, voice quivering with tears, ‘they went away and left me alone, they met with that horrible woman. . .’

She told him that she had seen everything from her window, that she had seen her brothers all fly away as swans, disappearing into the distant woods. As proof, she showed him the brilliant feathers that had fallen off in the courtyard, and which she had gathered up, as though she could somehow keep them near.

Though the king mourned and felt as though his heart had been hollowed out, he never considered that the queen had been the one to do such a wicked deed. He feared that the girl would be stolen away from him as well, and wanted her to return to the castle with him, where she might be safer. Having seen what happened to her brothers, the girl was afraid of her stepmother and begged the king to let her stay just this one more night in the castle in the woods.

Late that evening, the wretched girl thought, ‘I surely can no longer stay here. I must go and look for my brothers. I must save them.'

And when night came, the moon was new and the stars seemed dim. It was perfect. She ran away and went straight into the woods, following where she had seen her brothers fly. She walked the whole night long without stopping, and the next day as well, until she was too tired to walk any further.

She came upon a little hunter’s cabin, made of wood and leather, and wondered if she might find charity in there. She went inside, and there she found a room with six little beds. She did not dare to get into one of them. Instead she crawled under one of them and lay down on the hard ground, hoping that there she might spend the night there, safer than laying on the hard ground outside.

Just as the sun was setting, she heard a sound like rustling sheets, and saw six swans fly in through the window in a blur of feathers. Once they landed on the floor, they blew on each other until they had blown all of their feathers off. Their swan-skins came off like shirts. The girl looked on in horror, until she recognized all the not-swans as her lost brothers. Elated, she crawled out from under the bed where she was hidden, and embraced them. The brothers were no less happy to see their little sister, but their happiness did not last very long.

‘Sister,’ they said to her, ‘Dear sister, you cannot say here. This is a den of thieves and murderers. If they come home and find you, they will surely murder you.’

‘Why can’t you keep me safe?’ asked the little sister.

They looked on in sorrow, and told her there was nothing they could do. ‘We can only take off our swan-skins for fifteen minutes, a quarter of an hour every day. Only then can we exist in our human forms. After that we are again transformed into swans.’

‘Is there anything that can save you?’ their sister asked, tears in her eyes and staining her cheeks.

‘No,’ they answered, sorrow in their eyes. ‘It’s too difficult. To save us, you wouldn’t be allowed to speak or to laugh for six years, and in that time you would have to sew together six little shirts from aster flowers for us. If you speak a single word, if a single sound comes from your mouth, all your work will be lost.’

Saying all of this took the entirety of their quarter hour, and they transformed back into swans and flew out of the window once more. 

Despite the difficulty, the girl resolved to save her brothers, even if it should cost her her life. She left the hunter's cabin and went to the middle of the woods, where she found a hollow tree to spend the night in. The next morning she went out and gathered wild asters and began to sew them together, joining petal to delicate petal. She could not speak with anyone, and she did not want to laugh. She sat there, looking only at her work.

After she had already been there a long time, it happened that the king of this land, a different king to her own, was hunting in the woods near where she worked. His huntsmen found the girl at her tree.  
They called to her, saying, ‘Who are you?’ But she gave them no answer.

‘Come here, girl,’ they said. ‘We will not hurt you.’

She only shook her head. When they pressed her further with questions, she lost patience and threw her golden necklace at them, thinking that this would satisfy them and make them go away. But they did not stop, so she then threw her belt down to them, and when this did not help, her garters, and then -- one thing at a time -- everything that she had on and could do without, until finally she had nothing left but her shift.

The huntsmen, however, would not be dissuaded. They walked up to her and took her up, bringing her back to their king.

The king asked, ‘Who are you? What are you doing in these woods?’

But she did not answer. He asked her in every language that he knew, but she remained as speechless as a fish. Because she was so beautiful, the king's heart was touched, and he fell deeply in love with her. He put his cloak around her, lifted her onto his horse in front of himself, and took her to his castle. There he had her dressed in rich garments, and she glistened in her beauty like bright daylight, but no one could get a word from her.

At the table he seated her by his side, and her modest manners and courtesy pleased him so much that he said, ‘I wish to marry her. I want nothing else in this world.’

They were married a few days later.

Now the king had a wicked mother who was dissatisfied with this marriage and spoke ill of the young queen. ‘Who knows,’ she said, ‘where this girl who does not speak comes from? She could be a peasant, for all we know. She’s not worthy of a king.’

A year later the queen had brought her first child into the world. The old woman took it away from her while she was asleep, and smeared the young queen’s mouth with blood. Then she went to the king and accused her of eating the infant. The king could not believe this, and would not allow anyone to harm his queen. She, however, sat the whole time sewing on the shirts, and said nothing.

The next time, when she again gave birth to a beautiful boy, the deceitful mother-in-law did the same thing again, but the king could not bring himself to believe her accusations.

He said, ‘She is too pious and good to do anything like that. If she could only speak, and if she could defend herself, her innocence would come to light.’

But when the old woman stole away a newly born child for the third time, and accused the queen, who did not defend herself with a single word, the king had no choice but to bring her to justice, and she was sentenced to die by fire.

When the day came for the sentence to be carried out, it was also the last day of the six years during which she had not been permitted to speak or to laugh, and she had thus delivered her dear brothers from their curse. The six shirts of aster were finished, except for the last shirt, missing only a left sleeve. When she was led to the stake, she laid the shirts on her arm. Standing there, as the fire was about to be lit, she looked around, and saw six swans come flying through the air towards her. Seeing that their redemption was near, her heart leapt with joy.

The swans rushed towards her, swooping down so that she could throw the shirts over them. As soon as the shirts touched them their swan-skins fell off, and her brothers stood before her in their own bodies, vigorous and handsome. Only the youngest brother, the one with the one-armed shirt, was incomplete. His left arm was missing, and in its place was a bright swan's wing.

They came up to her on the stake and embraced her, kissed her. Then the queen went to the king, who was greatly moved, and she began to speak, her voice hoarse with disuse, ‘Dearest husband, now I may speak and reveal to you that I am innocent, and falsely accused.’

She told him of the treachery of the old woman, and of their three children who had been taken away and hidden.

They pressed the old woman for their whereabouts, and she eventually told them where the children were. To the king’s great joy, the children were found and brought forth, returned to their joyous parents. As a punishment, the wicked mother-in-law was tied to the stake and burned to ashes, and the king and the queen with her six brothers lived many long years in happiness and peace.”  
The silence that filled the room then was strange, different from the silence that spread after most of Caleb’s stories.

“I didn’t know they told happy stories in the Zemni Fields,” Beau said, looking down at her now-bare arms. “Thought they all ended in child death and despair.” 

“I dunno. That one started out pretty dark.” Nott replied, without meeting Beau’s gaze. 

“We. . .” Caleb sighed softly. “We believe in family. But not just in family. We trust in the things that we do to keep our loved ones safe, even though they may pain us. Our stories can be dark, but they are dark within reason.” 

Caduceus looked up at him, his fingers pausing. He had been sewing, repairing a rip in one of his gossamer sleeves with a thread so thin it resembled spider’s silk, which it may very well have been. “Zemnians live in a dark world,” he said quietly. “I can’t blame them for telling dark stories.” 

Caleb nodded, shooting him a grateful smile. “There is death and sadness all around us. It infuses our stories, our gods, our celebrations. Perhaps we are unique in our unwillingness to shy away from the darkness, but we are not unique in experiencing it.” 

“You could say that again,” Beau muttered. “I mean-- I don’t know that I get it. She really was trying to help her brothers, you know? She was a good person.” 

“And you aren’t?”

“Not like that! I didn’t even know I had a brother when the monks took me. It certainly wasn’t finding out that I’d been fuckin’ _replaced_ that made me start trying to absorb what the Soul was teaching. I think it was mostly spite.” 

“Your reasons are no less valid for being internal. I think there are parts of you that you wanted to keep safe, and parts you wanted to grow and nurture.” 

Beau snorted. “I’m not really the nurturing type.” 

Seeing the vaguely distressed look on Caleb’s face, Jester spoke up. 

“I don’t think he means that you are,” she said, her voice bright but gentle. “I mean, I don’t think he means that you’re going to not speak for six years and have a bunch of kids with a random king, either. I think he just means that you’re really brave for working as hard as you have for as long as you have.”

Fjord nodded slowly and cleared his throat. “She’s right, Beau. I think I speak for all of us when I say that you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. Whether or not anybody else understands what you’re doing, you’re a badass.”

“You are!” Jester hopped up from where she was sitting and went to sit beside Beau, not quite touching. After a brief nod from Beau, she took her hand and squeezed it. “You don’t need your stupid dad to get what you’re doing to be an amazing badass wonderful girl, doing your awesome thing for the people you care about.”

Beau’s eyes seemed locked on where their hands were joined. If her eyes were wet in the lantern light, everyone was polite enough to pretend not to notice. 

“Thanks, guys,” she mumbled, voice low and gravelly. 

“Of course,” Jester said, transferring the force of her smile from Beau to Caleb. “Thanks for the story, Cay-leb. You always know which one we need to hear” 

Caleb met her smile and matched it with his own, slightly sadder. “It is nothing,” he replied. “My mother always knew which story to tell, too. I suppose I learned it from her.” 

“Gods above,” Beau sniffed, sitting up a little further. “You’re just trying to make me cry at this point. All of you. Fuck.” 

Jester wrapped her in a tight hug. She smelled like vanilla and fresh bread, the same smell that filled the air after she cast a spell. “We just want you to know that we love you.” 

“I. . . I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I should write more of this actually! I still really like the concept. Feel free to suggest any other stories you think the Empire might tell its children. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are, as always, the best thing ever!!


End file.
